


Four Times Varric Was Surprised, And One Time He Wasn't

by Hallianna



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Ficlets, New Relationship, Sexual Tension, four times fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hallianna/pseuds/Hallianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life around Namia Hawke is never dull.  She keeps Varric on his toes, always dragging him into some crazy adventure.  At least he gets to write about it and, if need be, make up a new ending or change the details. </p><p>But when she manages to surprise him...well, that's another story entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Time:  Two Days After He Meets Hawke

Varric was trying very hard not to laugh at the incredulous look on Namia Hawke’s face.  He’d won the fifth hand in a row of Wicked Grace and Hawke’s paltry pile of coins was nearly gone.  “Something on your mind, Hawke?”

She pointed a queen at him, the card’s worn edge smeared with dirt.  He eyed it suspiciously as she waved it in his face.  “Cheater.”

“Madam, I protest.  What makes you think I’d do such an underhanded -”

“Cheater.”

“Lowbrow…”

“Liar, and a cheater.”

“Run of the mill…”

“Liar, cheater, swindler.”  The card waving became more emphatic, but her flinty eyes were softening.

Varric put his cards down and his hands up.  “Well, you got me there.  Though you might add dashing merchant prince to that list.”

Hawke flicked her card at his face and he ducked, chuckling.  “All right, dashing merchant prince who is a big liar and a cheater and a swindler to boot...show me.”

Varric couldn’t stop the grin on his face.  “Show you what?  That’s a pretty loaded request, Hawke.”

She flicked another card at him and it landed in his lap.  They both froze and her gaze cut to the card, then fled back up to his face.  The grin plastered there spread into a smirk.  “Well, all you had to do was ask.”

“Funny.  Maker take me, I had to wind up with a funny dwarf.”  She waved a hand at him.  “No, I want you to show me how you cheated.”

Varric’s mind was turning cartwheels the moment the words left her mouth, gleeful at the prospect of corrupting this woman with his baser, yet more handy, bits of knowledge.  But first, a test, to see if she was serious.  They’d known each other only a few days, and what he’d seen of Hawke was impressive.  She certainly knew how to make that sword of hers sing.

But bravery in battle and wits played across a table were two different things.

Varric sighed, like he had not a care in the world, but his quirked eyebrow gave him a rakish air.  “Fair enough.  I did just cheat you out of five silver.  But if you really want to know, prove it.”

Hawke looked around the main floor of the Hanged Man and grimaced.  “I am NOT making a fool of myself here, Varric.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly at her innocence.  He crooked a finger at her and when she leaned in closer, said in a low voice, “Cheating is about guts, and a willingness to see how far you can take the game.”  He pointed down to the card in his lap.  “I want to see if you’re brave enough to do what is necessary.”

Hawke’s eyes widened slightly, and he continued.  “Pull your chair next to mine, take the card from my lap, and put it in your hand.  That will be the first card you’ll use to cheat me at Wicked Grace with.”  He pulled away, smiling.  “Simple, right?”

Hawke was still for a moment too long and Varric became a tad concerned he’d pushed her too far.  But a second later, she beamed at him, her painted lips breaking into a devilish smile.  “Simple,” she replied.

The old wooden chair groaned in protest as Hawke dragged it the few feet next to Varric’s.  It creaked, then moaned as Hawke flung herself down in it, then leaned over the armrest to get closer to him.  He waited patiently, knowing she’d make a quick-as-lightning move to snatch the card and be done with his little game.

Varric hated being wrong, but he excused his ego and his pride when Hawke slid, liquid grace and powerful limbs, over her chair and onto his.  Her booted feet and her legs were still on her chair but her entire upper body was leaning over him, her hands bracing herself on his armrests.

“Hawke, what are you - “

“Shhh, Varric.”  She dipped her head down, then looked up long enough to stare at him with warm eyes and say softly, “Never question whether I’m brave enough to do what is necessary.”

And she plucked the card from his lap with her teeth.

 


	2. The Second Time:  After Finding Feynriel

They stomped into his suite, tracking mud and trailing bits of Wounded Coast foliage and cave spider with them.  The moment the door creaked shut, Hawke leaned against it.

Silence hung around them, neither of them looking at each other.  Hawke shattered the moment by snickering, and Varric couldn't contain himself any longer.  His laughter set her off, and they were lost to the utter ridiculousness they'd just survived.

"Maker's balls, Hawke, that thing-"

"Was huge, I know!  Did you see the look on Anders' face when he turned around and saw it?"

Varric let out a laugh that rattled his ribcage and went to wipe his eyes, then remembered his gloves were crusted with spider guts and slaver blood.  Grimacing as he peeled them off, he tossed them to Hawke, who didn't stop laughing as she snagged them mid-air and dumped them in the nearby wastecan.  He tried not to sigh, but he knew there was no salvaging them.

Varric stretched his hands out a few times and nodded in thanks.  "Oh, that was good.  Nothing like a huge mama spider to break up a fight with slavers."

Hawke raised an eyebrow at him.  "You call that breaking up a fight? More like adding fuel to the fire."

"You loved it."

She grinned at him.  "Every minute of it.  Though I might leave Anders at his clinic the next time we go anywhere near the Wounded Coast.  I think he's had his fill of spiders for the time being."

"Good idea.  No sense in making the possessed mage angry."  He kept smiling, even as Hawke's face turned contemplative.  Dammit, he was going to keep her spirits up even if it cost him.  "And did you see Fenris scare the living shit out of those slavers? He was quite a sight, all glowy and ferocious with that big sword of his. He might not like mages, but he really doesn't like slavers." He shook his head, still chuckling, watching as Hawke began to fight with the clasps on her armor.  They were stiffened with dried blood and effluvia and her battle-clumsy fingers couldn't get them undone.

Varric crossed the short distance between them and gently pried her hands away.  She didn't protest, but she did glare at him, which made him feel better.  She was very close and even though they were both covered in about four different types of gore, three recognizable kinds of mud, and six different kinds of cave plant life, she still looked like the most appealing thing he'd ever seen.  The smell, however, he could do without.

Varric had been working hard to keep his crush on Hawke under check.  After all, it was hard to watch someone's back when you were too busy watching their ass, and he didn't want his negligence to get her hurt.  Not that he thought so highly of his skills, or so little of hers, but still...it was easier to tuck away his desires than air them out.

When her armor dropped to the floor, Hawke gave a long, almost lustful sigh and Varric backed away quickly.  "That good, huh?"

She smirked.  "You try lugging around a broadsword in all that armor all day."

"I'll pass. I'm a crossbow and leather kind of guy."

"Kinky."

"If only you knew."

She flashed him a grin before setting off across the room.  Hawke ambled around for a moment and Varric caught a flash of something flicker over her face.  "Something wrong, Hawke?"

She spun and pinned him with her gaze.  "Are you sure it's okay for me to stay here? I don't want to impose."

That made him chuckle.  Like Hawke could ever be an imposition on him.  "Hawke, you're the one person who has a standing invitation to my rooms.  What does that tell you?"

Hawke tried to hide a grin as she turned away to the wash basin.  "You don't trust Rivaini with a key?"

"Or anywhere near my delicate bits," he muttered, making Hawke bark out a laugh.  He shooed her away, saying, "Now go get cleaned up so we can both get some sleep. I'm sure something equally thrilling will be waiting for us tomorrow."

"Maker, I hope not."

By the time Varric was certain he has scrubbed the last bit of slaver and spider guts off him, he was beyond exhausted.  He dropped into bed without a second thought.  Sleep began to claim him, and then a warm, heavy presence behind him jolted him awake.

"I hope you don't mind," Hawke said softly in his ear.  "I'm too tired to care and I figured you would be, too."

Varric rolled over as she was speaking and found himself within kissing distance of Namia Hawke.  It was an enticing, frightening position to be in.  But just as he seriously contemplated what to say, he took a closer look at her face and realization struck him like a hard slap across the cheek.

"I don't know that I've ever seen you without your makeup on," he said, instantly kicking himself for saying something so stupid instead of reassuring her that no, he didn't mind one bit she was in his bed.

Namia smiled softly.  "I realized that right before I climbed into bed - um, I mean, your bed.  Before I got into your bed."  She gave him a thoughtful look.  "Do I really look that different?"

Varric paused for a moment, his trained eyes soaking in details.  Hawke always wore heavy makeup that was part battle paint, part cosmetics, and one hundred percent intimidating/sexy in a female warrior kind of way.  But with all that washed away, he could see the delicate lines in her forehead that age had just started to carve and the laugh lines around her mouth.  Hawke loved to laugh, and her face showed it.

Her blue eyes were always bright like a bird's egg and lined with kohl, but now they were muted, softer.  The delicate tattoo that ran down the right side of her face was almost invisible, just a flicker in the shadows cast by the one lit candle.  And her mouth, usually a red slash that would grin at him or mock their enemies, was simply a mouth.  But that didn't mean he wanted to kiss it any less.

She looked younger, sweeter, far more carefree without her makeup and Varric found himself a little lost for words as he stared at her.

"Is it really that bad?" she finally asked quietly, shocked by his lack of an answer.

Varric shook his head and watched as she laid down, completely at ease this close to him.  "No, Hawke, no.  It's not bad at all."

 


	3. The Third Time:  When Fenris Leaves Her

Hawke showing up at his door was hardly unusual.

But the Hawke who knocked, didn’t bang with purpose, and who looked like a kitten who’d been left out in the rain standing on his doorstep was very, very unusual.  But one look at the pain on her face had him scattering his myriad thoughts to the wind and ushering her inside.

He ducked around the corner and came back with towels, which she accepted with a grateful, but tiny, smile.  Varric waited until she’d rubbed herself dry before asking, “What in blazes were you doing out in that storm, Hawke?”

She tossed the last towel on the floor, then let her shoulders slump a little.  “Walking.”

Varric’s mouth opened and closed a few times and he realized he must have looked like a fish pulled up on the docks, so he closed it and pointed to a chair.

Hawke shook her head, a few water droplets flying.  “If it’s okay with you, I’d really like to lay down.”  Her eyes darted about the room, noting the papers scattered across his table and the half eaten dinner he’d abandoned when her knock had come.  “Unless I’m interrupting something.  I’d understand if you need to kick me out.”

No, he'd never kick her out.  Not out of his suite, from his table, or his bed.

Without another word, he tugged her over to his bed and helped her settled in, then left just long enough to grab a book from the shelves on the opposite wall.

Hawke’s eyes were already closed in the few moments he’d been gone, so he just slid in next to her, cracked open the book, and began reading in a soft voice.  Whatever had happened, whatever had bothered her enough to send her out into the storm, could wait.  

Varric had no memory of his eyes drooping, so it was a shock to wake up curled next to Hawke, her legs tangled with his.  His eyes fluttered open and then realization dashed him about the head like a mallet.  He tried to sit up, but a hand pressed him back down.

“Unless you really have to get up, I’d rather not lose my dwarf-shaped pillow just yet.”

Her voice was sleep-warmed and rough and it sent a bolt of desire shooting through him.  Varric took a steadying breath and looked over to see Hawke blinking owlishly at him, a small smile tugging at her lips.  He returned the smile and settled back down so she could rest her head on his chest.  Her fingers traced idle patterns on his shirt, dancing dangerously close to his bare skin, and Varric suppressed a shudder.

 _Calm down, old boy_.  

"Not going anywhere," he reassured her, putting a steadying hand over her restless one. When she gave him a questioning look, he said, "Can I help it if it tickles?"

That made her snort and pull him even closer.  "Maybe I was curious to see if that chest hair of yours is really as soft as it looks."

 _Shit_.

That made him turn to look at her fully.  "Not that I'd ever turn down a compliment, but what's going on, Hawke? You show up last night looking half drowned-"

"Mostly drowned.  Be honest, Varric."

He shot her a withering glare, amber eyes locked on her blue ones.  "Fine, mostly drowned and like one of those kittens Blondie keeps trying to rescue.  What the hell happened?"

She instantly tensed and tried to pull from him but he held tight.  They struggled for a moment but she gave in when he hitched a leg onto her thigh, trapping her.  She let out a noise of discontent before saying, “Fenris.”

 _Amazing how one word, one name could tell me so much_.  Of course, her face was betraying some pretty ugly emotions - forehead scrunched, eyes narrowed, mouth turned down in an almost-grimace he wanted to wipe away.  A joke, maybe, or a bawdy story would do it.

_What would she do if I kissed it off her face?_

That thought made him startle and something on his face,or in his eyes, must have betrayed him because she suddenly gave him a crafty look.  “What’s that all about?”

“Don’t know what you’re on about.”  He nudged her with her own hand, which was trapped between both of his.  “Get talking.”

It took five minutes and some prodding from him, but she finally blurted out the story.  Loved, left in a cold, empty bed.  And for whatever dumb reason, she thought it would be better to seek out the storm than stay in her home until it passed.

He finally let go of her hand so he could prop himself up to look at her with what he hoped was a chastising frown.  “Maker’s breath, Hawke, I understand not wanting to stick around after elf boy”, and he was proud of himself for not calling that bastard a more colorful name, “did such a horrible thing.  But why go out in the storm?  You have a cellar door that leads to Darktown.  Smashing some heads seems like a good prescription for that kind of hurt.”

Hawke looked away, a flicker of a smile fading as quickly as it appeared.  Varric reached out to turn her face back to him and she resisted, pulling away from him completely.  She started to get up but he said, “Hawke, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to - “

“I was looking for you.”  She swung her feet over the edge of the bed.  “I’m always looking for you.”

An army of cave spiders couldn’t have made Varric move from the bed, stunned as he was by her confession.

He would have welcomed the cave spiders as he let her walk out his door.

 


	4. The Fourth Time:  Hawke's Birthday Party

It was hard to say no to Leandra Hawke.  When the invitation came to him via a well-dressed courier, Varric quickly penned a reply and sent it back.  Things between him and Hawke were just fine, but ever since her little confession, he wasn’t sure if pushing things past the tipping point was a great idea.  He was fine, she was fine - but fine wasn’t where they’d been before.  

He hated the word _fine_.

And he had lots of ideas on how to push.

_A candlelit dinner in his suite.  His low voice in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was.  His hand sliding up her thigh, bunching her dress and making her grip the arm of the chair._

_A dozen roses sent every day of the week, with a note but no signature.  Just clues, riddles she could put together and solve.  She was a smart one, his Hawke, and the answer she’d get would be him.  He’d lead her to some place outside the city, surprise her, show her the stars she was always staring at every time they walked the Wounded Coast at night._

_A hand on the small of her back, gently pushing her toward his door with a simple answer for her.  “I’ve been waiting for you to find me, Hawke.  But now I’m done waiting.”_

He cast a glance over at a chest of drawers tucked into a corner and grinned, remembering supple brown leather, emerald green silk, and golden embroidery.  Hawke wouldn’t know what hit her.

The night of the party found Varric stomping up to Hightown, decked in his usual coat with the finer one tucked away in a bag slung over his shoulder, Bianca guarding it, and him, fiercely.  He didn’t need the unwanted attention a handcrafted jacket any thief could spot from fifty paces off would get him tonight.

He met Aveline and Donnic at Hawke’s door and walked in behind them.  “Color me impressed,” he said to Aveline’s back.

“Don’t start,” she shot over her green silk-clad shoulder, but her eyes were twinkling.

He held a hand up in supplication.  “I wasn’t.  You look good.”

Donnic put an arm around his wife.  “She does, doesn’t she?”

Aveline smiled at him and Varric shook his head, chuckling as the two headed off, undoubtedly to find Hawke.  He went the opposite direction, to an empty room to swap coats and stash Bianca.  No need for her now, unless the party was raided by Qunari. And they didn’t strike him as the cheese and Antivan wine type.

He walked out of the room to find the main floor covered in dancers and in the middle of the group, Hawke….in the arms of Sebastian.  She was in blue silk, a flowing thing all colors of the sky and ocean, her dark hair loose about her face.  She was laughing, looking straight at the man who held her, and he was smiling back, one arm gently looped about her waist, the other holding her hand as he guided her.

Varric swallowed hard, shoving pride and jealousy down as the couple moved closer.  He was easily within eyeline now and he didn’t want his emotions playing about his face.  None of this changed his plans, but it did prove to him that he was deeply in love with Namia Hawke.

The thought should have startled him, but it came as easily as large sum calculations, storytelling, or ribald jokes about Rivaini.  He loved Hawke, every piece and part of her, and he wanted her to know.

 _Now, tell her now_.

As Sebastian and Hawke came closer, Hawke spotted him and smiled.  He smiled back, warmth melting the bit of frost that had coated him when he’d seen her with Choir Boy.  It didn’t matter.  She didn’t love Sebastian.  Of that much, Varric was certain.  He knew Hawke too well, knew her emotions and her expressions too well.  

_Tell her, you fool.  Grab her hand, steal her from Sebastian, lead her away.  Confess everything._

Varric gave himself a shake, shushing the voice.  “Not right now,” he muttered to himself as he heard the song draw to a close.  “We wait for the opportune moment.”

_You’ve been waiting for years.  How much longer are you willing to sit on the sidelines while others vye for her affections?  Choir Boy certainly has her attentions right now._

And he did.  The dance had ended, but Hawke was still very close to Sebastian, talking to him so softly Varric couldn’t hear them.  Sebastian was smiling, blue eyes fixated on Hawke’s face, but then Varric saw that gaze dip ever so briefly down to Hawke’s generous cleavage and he had to stifle a laugh.

_You can put the rake in the Chantry, but you can’t take his eyeballs out of his head._

If he’d been in Sebastian’s position, he’d be looking, too.  Hawke had a magnificent bosom.

So he watched Hawke with Sebastian and came to a decision.  He knew he needed to tell her how he felt.  Just not tonight.  He didn’t want to ruin anything when her mother had put so much effort into throwing her daughter a birthday celebration.

_So….if not now, when?_

Varric batted a hand in the air and the voice, thankfully, shut up.

The night went splendidly.  Hawke was surrounded by those who loved her and spent the whole time smiling and laughing, looking more happy and loved than Varric had ever seen.  On his way out the door, very late into the evening - or early in the morning, depending on how you wanted to look at it - he bowed to Hawke with a flourish and kissed her hand.

“Goodnight, birthday girl.  I hope it went exactly as you wanted.”

Hawke grinned at him.  “It certainly did, serah.”  She laughed as Varric lingered over her hand, making exaggerated kissing sounds, and gently pulled away after a moment.  “You’re in quite the mood.  What’s got you so happy?”

He winked at her.  “Can’t I just be happy that you’re happy?”

Her eyes softened and she sank to her knees in front of him.  “Well now, that’s quite a declaration.”

Varric shrugged.  “Not really.  It’s what happens when people are friends, Hawke.”

She put a hand on his shoulder and he sucked in a breath.  “Is that what we are, Varric?” she asked quietly, eyes searching his face.

He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently.  “For years now, and hopefully many more to come.”

_You idiot._

Her face fell just a fraction but she didn’t move.  Something like determination crossed her features.  It was a look he’d seen many a time when she was bartering in the markets or trying to talk Blondie out of his clinic.  

Now he was about to be the center of her bulldog-like tenacity, and part of him wanted to run in the other direction.  A determined Hawke, with all attentions and focus narrowed on one target, was a sight to behold….

….when you weren’t in the bullseye.  Something akin to a bastard child of terror and lust blossomed in his belly and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere fast.

“I hope so, too,” she said, fingers creeping from under his grip and going to the fine embroidery on his jacket.  “Not to change the subject -”

_Liar._

“-but I don’t think I’ve seen this jacket before, Varric.  Or this tunic.”  She smiled wickedly at him, teeth shining in the candlelight.  “Did you dress up just for me?”

“What, this old thing?” He flicked the lapel with a finger.  “It’s just something I had laying around.”

“Mmm.  Well, it’s gorgeous.”  She tugged just a little and drew him closer.  She radiated warmth, smelled like jasmine and wine, and looked like a goddess, hair coming undone, eyes glowing, lips parted.

He couldn’t help himself.  He raised an eyebrow and said in a low voice, “Well, if you really wanted to appreciate my clothing, serah, you should get a better look.”  Varric ran a hand over the exposed embroidery of the tunic, eyes flashing playfully.  “You don’t see this kind of craftsmanship just anywhere, you know.”

Hawke immediately ran a fingertip over the edge of his tunic, practically purring her response.  “I expect not.  It looks custom, Varric.  I mean…” and she slid that finger over, tracing the exposed skin of his chest, “most tunics don’t gape so.”

_Evil, brilliant woman.  Trying to undo me with a touch?  It takes more than that to rattle a Tethras._

“No, they don’t.  And yes, it’s custom.”  He couldn’t help but smile a little right before he said, “And if you like the front, you should see how it makes my ass look.”

That did it.  She broke right then, doubled over laughing, one hand on the floor, the other wrapped around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his stomach.  Varric laughed along with her, feeling any tension leave the room and with it, part of his heart.  

_You wanted her to take you to the floor and ravish you like in your novels, but real life doesn’t happen like that.  You should know better._

He frowned for a moment, and then wondered, _But if not now, when?  When does all this tension and all the flirty exchanges of words actually lead to something?_

It was the same question from earlier in the night, and he still had no answer.  For all his bravado, when it came to Hawke, he was weak.  A weak, besotted fool who adored the woman at his feet and would do anything for her.

When her laughter died down and she finally pulled her head up, she was still smiling.  At least you can do that right, he thought ruefully.  But he smiled back, never one to put his fears or his burdens on her.

“Oh, Varric,” she said, reaching out to brush hair away from his face.  “My dear, sweet, Varric.”

_Here it comes. The rejection.  Even after all she’s said to you, it’ll be, “We’re such good friends, I don’t want to spoil that.”_

Varric braced himself. He’d heard it before, kindness laced with heartbreak.  

He forgot that Namia Hawke, even after years in her company, could still stun the hell out of him.

She leaned closer, still smiling, but her eyes had darkened.  Her fingers traced his cheekbone, then slid down to his jaw.  “My dear, sweet, filthy-minded Varric.  Can the birthday girl get a kiss from the only man she hasn't kindly asked to leave her home?”

Before he could respond, she leaned in and whispered, “I did that on purpose, by the way.  The whole kicking everyone else out before getting on my knees and asking you to kiss me.”

_Holy shit._

And like any smart man who had a beautiful woman on his knees in front of him, asking for a kiss, he did exactly what she wanted.

And when she asked for a second kiss, and then another, and then dragged him up the stairs to her bedroom, he realized he had his answer.

 


	5. The One Time He Wasn't:  Four Months After Leaving Kirkwall

Hiding wasn’t as easy as it used to be.  He was recognized in small towns, even tiny villages, by people as a companion of the Champion’s.  Usually he could get away quickly, take a side street or another road and get the hell out before anyone had a chance to ask anything more than, “Is it true she slayed three high dragons with just a tree branch?” or, “Did she really sleep with the Arishok?”

That second one used to make him laugh, but now it brought back painful memories.

_The feel of Hawke’s smooth skin under his palm, warm from lovemaking._

_The sound of her breath catching just before she came, his name on her lips._

_The way she curled up next to him as he read in bed, asking for a story or a song so she could sleep.  Because she got to the point where she couldn’t sleep unless he was there._

So he carved his way across Thedas, town to town, village to village, headed for the rendezvous point Isabela had set up prior to everyone leaving Kirkwall.  If he kept his pace, he’d be right on time.

Varric stopped at the next town’s pub for a meal and to check his maps.  When the bartender nor any of the patrons didn’t so much as blink at him, he figured he was safe for a few hours.  And if those passed uneventfully, he might be safe enough to rent a room…

“Hey!  You!  Dwarf!”

Varric closed his eyes and bit back a groan.   _Shit, not here too._  

He didn’t turn around at first.  That just made the one-syllabic yeller rather angry, because the next few sentences involved insults and one rather uninspired metaphor about Varric’s mother.

Varric finally spun around on his stool, Bianca in hand, and greeted the man.  He was swaying on his feet, and he had a crowd behind him.   _Great.  A drunk, angry crowd and me without backup._

“Something on your mind, fella?”

The man pointed a shaky finger at Varric and said, “Yeah. You’re one ‘a them people who was wid the Champion a’ Kirkwall.”  Then he pointed to the ceiling and said, “Shit’s about ta get bad out ‘ere, and where is she?  It’s ‘er fault!  If she ‘adn’t let that mage blow up the Chantry -”

Varric held a hand up and the man, surprisingly, stopped talking.  “Let me help you out there, friend.  Hawke didn’t cause the explosion at the Chantry, and yes, she did try to stop that mage, more than once.  And then after, she killed him.”  He shook his head sadly, remembering the taste of ash and betrayal.  “It didn’t bring back the people he killed, but it was a start.”

The man staggered closer and waved his arms in the air, trying to incite the crowd.  They were already murmuring and Varric never liked a murmuring crowd.  “So where’s she?  Huh?  She should be out’ere, helpin’!  People’s dying and she’s not doin’ a damn thing -”

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose, waited a beat, and said, “Hawke’s dead.  Kind of hard to help when you’re ashes on the wind.”

They instantly shut up.  This was the other reason he tried so hard to avoid being recognized.  Invariably, Hawke would come up and then he would have to tell people the truth.  She’d been killed a month ago and he’d watched it happen, unable to stop the blood mage who’d caught her in a reave spell.  

He’d been on the run ever since.

The crowd scattered quickly after his confession, no longer interested in the former companion of the Champion.  He didn’t doubt the news would spread quickly, and that meant he should probably be on his way after his meal.

_Another night sleeping in the woods, old boy._

Two weeks, three battles, and one injured shoulder later, Varric arrived at the rundown shack on the Antivan coastline where Isabela had said they should all meet.  The place was empty, save a wine bottle on the rickety table that was holding down a note.

The spidery handwriting he recognized instantly - Isabela informed him to wait as she rounded up Merrill from the nearby forest and that she’d had word from the others.  He was two days early, having made better time than expected.

The threat of a mob, and a chase by darkspawn, would make any man, even a dwarf, run harder.

He checked the inside and out for traps, mentally thanking Isabela for being so careful with her tripwires that he didn’t set them off, and settled in for the night.  She’d left supplies and a stock of blankets and potions, so he set about tending to his wounded shoulder.

It rained hard that night and was thankful he wasn’t out in the weather, but wondered how the others were faring.  The note he’d sent to Isabela had gotten through to her, since she’d left him one in return, but what if the others had gotten caught?  What if someone was hunting them down?  This was perfect ambush weather.

Varric banged his head back against the cot and grimaced.  Now he was worrying, which would do wonders for his already uneasy mind.  And when his mind was uneasy, it had a tendency to drift….to Hawke.

A bang at the door, solid enough to shake the wood, had him bolting upright.  He reached for Bianca, hissing when he pulled against his wound.  Hand on the door and heart in his throat, he yanked it open.

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

Varric lowered Bianca, a smirk on his face.  “Right on time.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “You know, the last time this happened, I remember it ending rather well.”

The black armored figure stepped around him, dripping onto the worn floor.  “Not as well as I wanted.”

That made him grin.  “You still look like a soaked kitten, love.”

Hawke chuckled.  “I’ve been called worse.”  She started stripping off her armor, the dragon plate clanking as it hit the floor.  “So, how many times did you have to tell the ‘Hawke is dead’ story?”

“Surprising few,” he answered as he watched her.  “And people weren’t nearly as interested in me once they found out.”

“And here I thought the news would be spread across Thedas by now. I’m disappointed, Varric.”

He reached for her the minute the last piece of armor was gone, needing to touch her.  It had been a long few weeks.  She spied his injury and smacked him on his good shoulder.  “Varric!  What happened?”

He wrapped the good arm around her waist and drew her closer, ignoring the water that ran down his chest from her hair.  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Well, now you won’t have to do it alone.  I’m here, and I’m not leaving again.”

He met her lips once, twice, before saying, “You better not.”

 


End file.
